LC Knowledge Tunic

I notice two things when I arrive in Lampedusa—beauty and authority. Also, the phone sets itself to Tripoli time. I look around, making sure the signs are still in Italian. They are.

A few hours later, I meet my contact, looking as she always does, beautiful, disheveled, and purposeful, standing on a frigate-turned-fishing boat that appears to be mounted on a sea of glass (the water is the clearest you’ll find).

We push off.

After we dine on squid, sweet onions, tomatoes, capers, and olives, I notice a small boat in the distance. I assume it’s another fishing vessel.

My contact tells me this is what she wanted me to see. The boat is actually a motorized raft filled with a hundred African migrants who look like they’ve been to hell and back. We are there to “greet” them.

Over the next several days, I realize that Lampedusa has long been the conduit to a better life for African migrants. Many perish trying to reach “the door to Europe.” Some succeed.

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